


What About Drift?

by Fulcrumisthebomb



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fix-it fic, Fluff, M/M, Spark Sex, silliness, sparkplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fulcrumisthebomb/pseuds/Fulcrumisthebomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Scavengers accidentally stumble across a crashed pilot in a pile of wreckage and bring him back to the W.A.P. for repairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What About Drift?

**Author's Note:**

> What about Drift? Seriously?? I couldn't stand waiting for Drift to show back up in MTMTE so I'm playing around with an idea of where he might've ended up- and how he'll make it back to the Lost Light.
> 
> NOTE: Later chapters are canon divergence from Dark Cybertron's story arc.

Fulcrum had never seen Crankcase look this close to being happy as they crawled over the wreckage. Though damaged beyond repair by its crash, the tiny flier still had many intact parts to salvage.

"What about that, uh, thing?" Misfire vaguely waved off to the side as he looked up at them. "That looks important."

Crankcase completely ignored the jet, leaving Fulcrum to repeat for what felt like the thousandth time, "We're getting there! Don't rush us or we might-,"

"-miss something, yeah." The abnormally despondent tone has Fulcrum peering over the edge at him again; Misfire was pacing in a tight line, wings drooped and hands fluttering.

"What's wrong?" Fulcrum sighed as he went back to work stripping wires. 

"All the fuel's been siphoned, I'm done and I'm _bored._ "

"Well we _aren't,_ " Fulcrum replied sternly. "So just stand there and- and look pretty."

The jet's wings hiked upward as a grin split his face, striking an impressive pose. "I can do that! 'Specially for you, hotness."

Fulcrum felt his faceplates heat as a silly smile tugged at his mouth. Misfire always knew how to make the most mundane tasks enjoyable, and the jet's thorough lack of any sense of shame made him laugh every time. "Not that it would be hard for you to- _Ow!_ " He yelped as a discarded scrap of metal banged against his head.

"Quit flirting and concentrate, Krok wants to leave ASAP," Crankcase growled, glaring at them both until they quieted. They worked in blessed silence for a few kliks, ripping metal and mesh to toss into their growing pile of salvage. He and Crankcase were almost finished with gutting the engine when there was a squeal of metal on metal neither of them caused. As one, they both leaned to the side.

"Misfire, what are you-," Fulcrum demanded.

"Uhhhh." Misfire backed out of the hole he'd punched in the side, glancing up at them worriedly. "I think he's alive, but y'know, I'm not the best judge of that so you'd better check."

Crankcase slid down to the ground, cursing softly as he pushed Misfire out of his way. Fulcrum followed slowly, pressing against Misfire's side, tensed in preparation to flee. They watched in fascination as Crankcase pulled a pale battered frame from the wreckage; the mech had to be hanging on by willpower alone with the size of those wounds.

"He's alive," Crankcase muttered, "barely, but he's an Autobot."

Fulcrum crept forward, optics wide as he looked the pilot over. With a small gasp he suddenly withdrew, bumping into Misfire and clinging to him.

"He's a Decepticon traitor," Fulcrum announced with a grimace. "Leave him. Let's pack up and put as much distance between him and us as fast as we can."

Crankcase's head tilted slightly. "How do you know?"

Fulcrum winced, gaze sliding to the side. "He's on the D.J.D.'s list."

"Oi, drop him and let's go," Misfire agreed immediately.

"Not our decision," Crankcase said gruffly. "Get the parts together while I radio Krok."

Fulcrum and Misfire hastily gathered what they'd scavenged, loading the parts into the small cart they'd brought. They were almost finished when they heard Crankcase sigh and swear aloud. Fulcrum, alarmed by the resigned tone, gripped Crankcase's arm.

"Don't tell me-,"

"Krok says Spin should look him over," Crankcase muttered. "Might be good for spare parts if he doesn't make it."

" _'If'?_ " Misfire echoed. "Whaddya mean, 'if'? One brain damaged Autobot is plenty!"

" _Hey,_ Grimlock isn't brain damaged, he just- needs proper repairs," Fulcrum argued, and was promptly ignored.

"Krok's orders." Crankcase swore again. "Move out."

They fell in line as they marched back to the W.A.P., Crankcase leading the way. Misfire leaned down, placing his mouth next to Fulcrum's audios. 

"Who is it?"

" _Deadlock,_ " Fulcrum whispered.

"...Oh scrap, we're in deep slag now, aren't we?"

"Yeah..."


	2. Scavenged Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulcrum and Misfire help a disoriented Drift get his bearings on the W.A.P.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this headcanon about Misfire, who thinks of mechs in various levels of 'dead' like Miracle Max from _The Princess Bride._ I have no idea why or where that came from, but I find the idea uproariously funny and you bet I'll make references to it every time I can!

Deadlock's vents were harsh and troubled, but even. Spinister had done what he could and declared the mech would live, though he had cheerfully offered to shoot him for the spare parts. Krok had seemed horrified at the idea, Crankcase had argued it was a great plan; in the end, it was Fulcrum himself who had grudgingly spoke up in favour of the Autobot and ended the discussion.

After all, what if they'd shot _him_ on sight when they'd found Fulcrum? Flywheel's crazy assumptions aside, they would've benefited more from Fulcrum's death and salvage than accepting yet another intake to fuel. 

And so he and Misfire sat watch over Deadlock while Spinister was recharging, talking about the traitor in furtive whispers.

"Think the D.J.D. caught up with him?" Misfire cringed.

"Doubt it." Fulcrum shook his head. "I think we're an anomaly, Misfire. They don't just let mechs go."

"Maybe he got away? That's why he crashed?"

Fulcrum shrugged, leaning into Misfire's frame as his optics remained trained on the slack face. "That ship he was in wasn't built for long distance travel. Well, somewhat, but not quite. I got the impression from the engine design it was made to draw upon a larger ship's power, so it would've been more like an escape pod than anything. That opens up too many possibilities."

"Hmm." Misfire curled one arm around the broad shoulders, tugging Fulcrum closer. "I like his swords, though. Frag, they're nice! Think I'd be any more accurate with those sick slabs of metal?"

Fulcrum paused dramatically. "Nope."

"Aww, you're such a downer," Misfire laughed. "I _betcha_ I would be. I _betcha_ I could-,"

A soft _click-whirr_ silenced them as the prostrate mech twitched. The optics slitted open blearily. "Rrrra- Ratch?"

"What's he talking about?" Misfire hissed loudly. Fulcrum shoved him, hard, before he stood and moved in Deadlock's line of sight.

"Hullo. Uhm." He was _so_ not good at this; Misfire did much better introductions, but the jet looked too excited to be intelligible at the moment. "You're safe. Just relax. You're badly damaged but you're going to be okay."

The aqua optics brightened, honing in on Fulcrum's voice with a sharp keenness that unsettled the tech. "Where am I?"

"We're about ten clicks from the junction of 'I Don't Know' and 'Fragging Nowhere'," Misfire jumped in helpfully. "But for now you're on the _Weak Anthropic Principle._ With us!" He held up his hands, wiggling his fingers. "Huzzah!"

Deadlock's optics blinked slowly, then swiveled back to Fulcrum. "I'm... not dead?"

"You were _almost_ dead!" Misfire piped up gleefully.

"Misfire!" Fulcrum gripped the jet's face, clamping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry. He gets excitable easily. You're not dead; far from it, or so our medic says. You just need to rest and recover now."

Deadlock ignored the suggestion and struggled to sit up, grimacing as joints and gears popped. "That sounds like a good-," He paused, optics widening in a show of panic as he pushed away, nearly falling off the far side of the berth. "You're _'Cons!_ "

Misfire's enthusiastic reply was muffled by Fulcrum's hand.

"You're not the first Autobot we've picked up along the way," Fulcrum said gently, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Pit knows _he'd_ be freaking out if he woke surrounded by Autobots. "Like I said, you're safe. Our captain decided to bring you on board and repair what we could. We're- We're just trying to get by. The war's over."

To his surprise, the Autobot huffed and shook his head, though relaxed minutely. "You haven't seen Cybertron, then."

"No, but that's generally where we're headed," Fulcrum nodded, gently releasing his grasp on Misfire's helm. "So, you know who won?"

Deadlock started, gaze darting between them. "You _don't_ know?"

"Of course not," Misfire scoffed. "All we got was the cryptic _War's over, go home_ message like everyone else." His wings drooped slightly. "Autobots won, didn't they?"

"...If you can call it winning." Deadlock shifted, trying to get comfortable. "It's- It's a mess, really. But-," He offered them a grim smile. "Thank you for not leaving me to die. I never would've thought..."

"Neither did I," Fulcrum replied in amusement. "These scavengers are-,"

"Hey!" Misfire rapped him on the helm. "We're _extraction specialists!_ "

"Whatever," Fulcrum mumbled, sliding a hand up Misfire's arm. "We're 'Cons, but none like I've ever seen before. I think you'll be surprised."

Deadlock nodded slowly. "I already am. You mentioned another Autobot?"

"Yes, he's napping in the cargo hold," Fulcrum said with a hint of pride. "Pretty famous Autobot, too. Grimlock."

"What?! He's alive?" Deadlock leaned forward. "Is he alright?"

"He's... damaged, but functional," Fulcrum said carefully. "But that's enough talk for now; we need to tell Krok you're awake and you need to keep resting."

The Autobot nodded, shoulders returning to a hunched posture. "One thing before you go... Do you know who I am?"

"Yes," Fulcrum frowned. "You're-,"

"I'm Drift. Drift."

Misfire tilted his head. "I thought you were Dea-?"

"I'm _Drift!_ " the mech repeated emphatically, optics blazing with emotion. Misfire held up his hands peaceably.

"Understood," Fulcrum replied hastily, nudging Misfire toward the door. "You go grab Krok, I'll wait here."

Misfire hesitated, nodded, then stepped up to the berth, his wings flaring behind him. He towered over the pale mech, who was still curled in on himself on the berth. "You lay a hand on Fulcrum while I'm gone- you do so much as _look_ at him funny- and you'll _wish_ we left you in that wreckage," he snarled in a low tone. "Got it?"

Drift blinked, shocked. "Yeah."

"Good." Misfire's dark demeanor disappeared immediately, petting a speechless Fulcrum's helm before he trotted out of the med bay. An uneasy silence fell between them, optics aggressively avoiding the other's.

"Are you sure you're Decepticons?" Drift finally asked with a snort.

Fulcrum grinned, resettling on the bench nearby. "Sometimes I wonder."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Divide and Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimlock does not approve of the newest crewmember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with 100% more Grimlock!

Drift's integration into the crew of the W.A.P. was less than ideal, despite Fulcrum and Krok's genuine attempts to make him feel at ease. His recovery went smoothly, at least, and Drift and Krok spent several hours in the medbay together off and on, presumably exchanging information and setting boundaries. By the time Drift was well enough to move about, things were looking up.

Until Grimlock caught sight of him.

Drift was arguing with Krok in the hall, demanding to carry his swords and Krok taking steady vents between denying his protests, when there was a deafening roar behind them. Fulcrum started and crashed into the wall beside the giant Autobot, abandoning his momentary escort to the refueling station. To their collective surprise, Grimlock lowered his head and began storming toward Drift.

Fulcrum shouted and tore off after him, though he could do little to halt the ramming force. "Grim! Grim, no, _stop!_ "

" _KILL DECEPTICON!_ " Grimlock howled furiously.

Fulcrum gasped, fumbling and grasping at the Dinobot's pumping legs. " _No!_ Grim, he's- he's _not_ a 'Con!"

Weaponless, and in the path of a charging Dinobot, was just about the worst position any mech could ever be in; no one thought less of Drift for making a gurgling noise and escaping right back into the medbay. Krok, ever impassive, pulled out a gun and leveled it between Grimlock's optics, legs widening in a defensive stance. 

"Stand down, Grimlock," Krok snarled, bracing himself as the Autobot slid to a screeching halt in front of him. 

Grimlock's hands curled and uncurled into fists in agitation. "Decepticon hurt bomb! _Decepticon must die!_ "

"But I'm fine!" Fulcrum squeaked.

There was a brief second of silence before Drift peeked through the grimy window behind Krok's head. "But- But _they're_ Decepticons!" he screeched, voice muffled but clearly angry.

"He must recognize you," Krok frowned, stowing his gun but placing a solid hand in the middle of Grimlock's chassis. "Grimlock, Drift's part of the crew now. He's not going to hurt any of us." He paused, glancing back at Drift over his shoulder before continuing, "And if he does, _then_ you can tear him apart. But not until then."

Grimlock vented heavily, optics swinging between Drift's tense expression and Krok's. Fulcrum approached them slowly, carefully touching Grimlock's arm.

"Misfire and I have been watching over Drift," Fulcrum said in a low tone. "He just needs a home, like you and me. He's not a threat, Grimlock. Please, _please_ calm down."

Another growling snarl echoed through the hallway before Grimlock backed away a few steps. "If bomb hurt, me Grimlock _smash._ "

"Yes," Krok nodded. "I would expect no less. Are you going to be reasonable now?"

"Me Grimlock reasonable," the Autobot muttered, gripping Fulcrum's arm and tugging him close to his side. "Me Grimlock watch you," he added with a hiss at Drift's floating face, then turned and continued down the hallway, Fulcrum still squished to his plating.

"Drift will not hurt us," Fulcrum repeated, trying to wriggle out of the suffocating grasp. "But he, uh, does raise an interesting point. You, uhm. Grim, you do know _we_ are Decepticons, right?"

"Bomb protect us," Grimlock replied with a serious glare. "Bomb scare off Decepticons. Bomb needs protecting, now. _All_ crew need protecting. Me Grimlock _best_ protector."

Fulcrum smiled, reaching up to stroke Grimlock's shoulderguard affectionately. "Yes you are, Grim. Thank you."

Grimlock just snorted.


	4. Drifting Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulcrum catches Misfire in a rare mood.

"Sooo... He's not going to attack me again?"

Fulcrum swallowed a chuckle at Drift's very serious question. "No, I promise. I made it very clear to Grim that you're part of the crew."

"So you'll keep an optic on him too while we refuel?"

It was strange, how a tall powerful mech- and an ex-Con!- like Drift could look so helpless. That look of uncertainty reminded Fulcrum of himself, and this time he let himself laugh. "Yes. Every time, if that's what makes you comfortable."

Drift shook his head, returning the smile. "You're a terrible Decepticon."

"That's what Misfire says," Fulcrum replied dryly. "I think I always was, though. Oh, speaking of..." They had rounded a corner and Fulcrum could see Misfire sitting in the makeshift observation room, but something about the jet's posture made him pause. "I'll be right back."

Drift nodded, head tilted curiously, but Fulcrum didn't want to explain. The tech ducked into the room, walking quietly up to his friend. The wings were drooped, the strong shoulders slumped. Something was wrong.

"Hey," Fulcrum said softly, surprised when there was no response. "Misfire?"

"Mmm."

Well, at least Misfire was aware. Fulcrum had only twice seen the jet so subdued, and both times it had been very unsettling. Misfire was sparked for joy and vivacity; seeing him quiet and fearful made Fulcrum feel like the universe had just upended. Opting to wait rather than force whatever was bothering him, Fulcrum wrapped his arms around Misfire's waist and rested his head at the base of a wing. Even with the obvious tension, they both relaxed into the embrace easily.

A moment later one of Misfire's hands moved to cover his. "D'you think what Drift said is true? About the Autobots winning the war?"

"I don't see why he'd lie about it," Fulcrum shrugged. 

"So if it's true, when we get to Cybertron... What's gonna happen to us?"

Fulcrum grimaced, tightening his grip. He'd wondered the same, during the dark hours of recharge. None of the scenarios he'd found likely were promising, but he hesitated to say that now. "I don't know," he mused. "Considering how Autobots work, probably put us through some sort of- of trials? Maybe delegated to lower caste and-,"

"No," Misfire snapped irritably, twisting in his hold to glare at him. "I mean _us_. Me and you." 

"Oh." Fulcrum's optics widened. _That_ was something he hadn't considered. "Oh, I- don't see anything between us changing. Why? Err, d- do you?"

Misfire sagged against him in relief, reaching up to pet his audials. "I don't want anything to change! But, I mean, if we get _options_ and you wouldn't _have_ to stick around, I didn't know if..."

A pleasant warmth suffused Fulcrum's spark as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the frowning mouth. "I don't know what will happen, but I'm staying with you."

"Oh thank Primus," Misfire muttered before diving forward and capturing Fulcrum in another, more passionate kiss. 

Only a few seconds in and Fulcrum moaned, hands working up the shivering wings as he tilted his hips into the jet's, desperate to reaffirm what he'd just said. Misfire not only wanted him, wanted his body and spark, but now wanted to make sure he wouldn't leave. Such a foreign concept, but so very welcome. He would never have to be alone again.

Completely forgetting his offer to refuel with Drift, Fulcrum managed to wrestle Misfire back against the observation glass, grinning at their quickly ramping charge. Too occupied with their newfound happiness, neither noticed the dark shape that slid gracefully from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "You're a terrible Decepticon!" comment is a direct reference to the glorious Scavengers fic, Fool's Paradise, by AlbaAulbath. If you haven't read it, you're in for a wonderful treat! GO READ IT.


	5. Drift and Release

Slowly- or maybe quickly, Fulcrum tended to not pay close attention to the passage of time anymore- it seemed Drift became a sort-of trio with he and Misfire. At first, Fulcrum suspected it was simply due to safety in numbers as far away from Grimlock as possible, but as they refueled and talked and even did a few scouting missions together, Drift began to reveal more of himself, ask questions and smile often. Krok confessed in a whisper he was thrilled there was another mech onboard who could handle Misfire's hyperactivity, as that left him completely free of the job.

As pleasant as Drift's inclusion in group projects was, Fulcrum still valued quiet. He retreated to polishing Grimlock or working on the ship's engines when he needed some space, and apparently Misfire had told Drift to leave him be. Tactfully, hopefully.

Used to having to sneak to escape company, Fulcrum was surprised to find the refueling station empty when he dragged himself in after a hard shift of patching and re-patching the W.A.P. Sitting alone as he nursed half a cube, he found the solitude more irritating than relaxing. He was too attuned to Misfire's rapidfire speech and Drift's smooth rumbles to sit comfortably in the unexpected silence; he was just moving to stand and wander off in search of one of them when the door slid open.

"Oh, leaving?" Drift asked, mildly curious. "Or could I wrestle you into watching my back while I refuel?"

"Certainly," Fulcrum nodded, resettling and hunching over his ration. "Though it wouldn't be much of a struggle. Have you seen my frame lately?"

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you about that," Drift said solemnly over his shoulder. "If I can."

Fulcrum gave an exaggerated shrug. "Sure."

Drift huffed, shaking his head as he sat opposite the tech. "I can't wrap my processors around how amenable you are," he said, sounding puzzled. "But anyway. You're K-class."

It wasn't a question, so Fulcrum just nodded.

Drift's face scrunched in concentration. "So what I don't understand is why Krok appears to be the acting leader at times? _Most_ of the time? You're obviously the leading officer, so- What's wrong?"

Fulcrum coughed violently, waving away Drift's halfhearted attempts to help as he struggled to intake the stale air. "Frag, Drift, what gave you _that_ idea?" he croaked when his vocaliser rebooted. "Me? _Leader?_ You must be joking."

Drift shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. "Decepticon ranks can't have changed _that_ much. As a K-class, you outrank a genericon, a surgeon, and a pilot."

Fulcrum arched a brow ridge. "And Misfire?"

" _I_ outrank Misfire, and I'm an Autobot," Drift snickered. Fulcrum covered his laugh with a hand. "But seriously, you're in charge of assimilating the new recruits, you compile and sign off on the scavenged lists, your vote holds considerable weight, and even the acting leader goes on your advice. You are in charge, aren't you?"

"No!" Fulcrum protested. "No, slag no. Grimlock took to me because I was quieter than the others, but not too quiet. I suspect it's the same with you." His mouth quirked into a smile. "I'm stuck with approving the scavenged lists only because Crankcase _forced_ them on me since I am- or was- the newbie. My vote is the same as anyone's on the ship, and- well, yes, Krok tends to listen to my suggestions over, say, Misfire's, or Flywheels' when he was around." Fulcrum straightened proudly. "He finds me sensible."

"But..." Drift hummed in thought, sipping from his cube. "That's odd, because most everything seems to involve, or revolve around, you."

"Absolutely not! Nor would I want it to." Fulcrum grimaced at the idea. "I'm a simple technical supervisor under this K-class reformat, Drift, and that's all I'll ever be. That's all I _want_ to be."

Drift nodded appeasingly, optics unfocused as he drained his ration. "But the others see you as more. Even Spinister is excessively fond of you, and he doesn't seem fond of anyone."

"Oh, pfft." Fulcrum rolled his optics. "He's enthusiastically grateful I happened to stumble across a hidden cache of medical equipment a few planets back. Anyone could've found it."

"Still." Drift's narrowed gaze slid up to meet Fulcrum's. "Misfire thinks very highly of you."

"He does," Fulcrum said with an immediate lopsided grin. "And it's mutual."

Drift stood, collecting their empty cubes. "I... noticed."

"Eh?" Fulcrum blinked, then froze. "Oh- Oh slag, that wasn't you that walked in the cargo hold earlier, was it?!"

"No... But now I'm _intensely_ curious."

His faceplates were already heating; Fulcrum patted his cheeks to try to cool them down. "Oh. Well. I don't know if I should be glad of that or not. I still don't know who that was..."

Drift deposited the cubes in the washrack, then turned to stare down at the tech. "I haven't seen that level of devotion between Cons. Only Autobots."

"Yes, well..." Fulcrum folded his arms on the table, slumping to rest his chin on them. "I haven't either. Didn't expect it, but I'm sure as Pit not going to turn my nose up at it. It's surprisingly comforting." His optics flickered upwards. "Have you ever had that?"

Drift's expression darkened and Fulcrum straightened hastily, stuttering an apology until the swordsmech held up a hand. "Fulcrum, relax. It's... becoming less painful to think of him. Most of the time, at least."

"Tell me about him, then?"

Drift stood still, seeming oddly lost for a klik until he shook himself and sat down. "It was.. It was hero worship at first; he saved my life too many times. I didn't deserve it."

"You obviously did," Fulcrum said quietly, pleased when Drift gave him a small smile.

" _He_ thought I did. And- And I'll never deserve what time we had together, but I will be eternally grateful for it. He has a hardened shell, but is impossibly soft when those layers are peeled away. He cares so deeply for everyone around him, even if he rarely shows it- which makes him an excellent medic, but at times it gets too personal for him. I would help him stay focused on the positives."

"A medic?" Fulcrum grinned. "I've heard _rumours_ about medics."

Drift leaned forward, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "It's _all_ true... and _more._ "

"You lucky fragger," Fulcrum laughed, and Drift chuckled across from him. "I can't imagine."

"I was wholly unprepared," Drift said dreamily before his expression fell. "I miss Ratchet so much, it's like a-,"

"Ratchet?!" Fulcrum jumped up, taking a step back and pointing at Drift in surprise. "You- You know _Ratchet?_ Ratchet the Autobot medic?!"

Drift laughed again. "Yes. Terror of the Med-Bay himself. I see he truly _is_ legendary, even on the other side."

"Oh frag!" Fulcrum put a hand over his spark, giving a dramatic shudder. "I've heard he can dismantle a mech as fast as he puts them together."

"He wouldn't," Drift protested. "He preserves life. When he can."

"I'd rather not push my already poor luck." Fulcrum tilted his head, leaning in. "But- and I swallow my ingrained fear for this- his _legendary_ hands...?"

Drift crossed his arms, sitting back with a malevolently sly smile, and Fulcrum fell into another round of nervous laughter as he sat down again.

"You're insane, going after a mech like that!" Fulcrum huffed.

"It was one of the best decisions of my life," Drift replied firmly.

"Is he..." Fulcrum gestured widely. "Dead?"

"No! No, thank Primus," Drift said reverently, then started when Fulcrum reached over, resting a hand on his elbow.

"Then I am sorry," Fulcrum said quietly.

They stared at the other for a few seconds, silent understanding passing between them.


	6. Slice and Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulcrum learns why Drift is to be feared- and why he doesn't have to.

The mission should've been routine- but then, all their scouting recons were supposed to be.

Only today, it seemed Fulcrum's bad luck was cashing in all at once. The energy signature hidden inside the forest had been massive, hopefully a downed ship or salvageable cityscape, but no. No, the gigantic hunk of energy was very much alive and aggressive- and apparently a native life form, because now there were _three_ of them. Large beasts that were as big as the W.A.P., with teeth as long as Misfire was tall. And spiked tentacles, because of _course_ they'd have tentacles just to fuel Fulcrum's future nightmares.

Fulcrum _really_ hated organic planets.

He was small and agile compared to these monsters; however, those advantages were lost as soon as Spinister was caught in the back by the serrated whiplike cords. The surgeon's plating had been ripped open, spraying Fulcrum in a sickening wash of precious fluids before Spinister fell facefirst in the muck, unmoving. Unable to carry the flier, Fulcrum had grabbed a nearby rock and planted his feet, raising it threateningly. Their bullets had simply been absorbed by the gelatinous creatures, much to Spinister's dismay. A rock would be no better but it was _something._ Maybe he could draw their attention away from Spinister, keep their focus on him so Spinister could be rescued later.

Damned if he was going to leave Spinister to certain death- although this plan had him joining in on not surviving. Fantastic.

The bellows from the beasts sounded vaguely like laughter as they paused, amorphous eyes widening as they glared down at him.

As terrified as Fulcrum was, he'd stared at death too many times to hesitate now. Maybe he actually _had_ retained something from the K-class reformat; he imagined this fuel-pumping resolve was what he should've felt when he jumped. Bravery in the face of certain death; Krok would be proud, and that thought made his spark swell just before the thought of Misfire made it constrict painfully.

Fulcrum ducked a testing sweep of a thick tentacle, screaming in response to the deafening trio of roars.

He was supposed to be there when they got to Cybertron, protect Misfire from whatever the Autobots had planned and protect the Autobots from Misfire's mouth.

Fulcrum wedged between two tree trunks to avoid a close stomping of gooey mass.

Misfire wanted to keep him _for-ev-er,_ the jet had murmured. Frag, that's all Fulcrum wanted too. Take care of Misfire, be taken care of.

He dove to the side as a blobbery hand shot toward his head, slicing at it with the thin edge of the stone. The beast howled in rage as Fulcrum saw what clearly looked like a wound as it retreated. Oh. Oh, _that_ was promising. Maybe- Maybe a larger rock, something sharp-?

His revelation was too late; the angered beasts rampaged forward as one, sending too many feelers for Fulcrum to dodge. As he was flattened into the thick mud, he saw the potential of his future dreams shift into blinding pain. The snap of joints bending impossible ways drowned his feeble pleas of _stop, stop, Misfire needs me!_

Growling shrilly in triumph, the largest beast leaned down, snaking a barbed cord toward his optics. Oh _Primus,_ he didn't want Misfire to end up like Drift, faking his beautiful smiles with unfocused optics and pretending to not hurt, it _wasn't fair-!_

Fulcrum gasped as the pressure suddenly disappeared, leaving him wheezing and half-buried in filth. One of his optics had cracked, but the other powered on as his audials rebooted. Slowly, shapes filtered in to sync with sound. The monsters were screaming, storming away from him, and he was terrified that Spinister had come to and was trying to draw their attacks to himself. The tech struggled to sit up, crying out as his right shoulder dislocated with a nauseating _crunch._

Something was darting between the creatures, flying and spinning too fast for Fulcrum to focus on, forcing them to retreat. Bits and pieces of the grotesque bodies were splattering all around him in neat chunks; his tanks churned as he followed the lay of the ground, finally locating Spinister's prone frame. Shakily Fulcrum crawled toward him, relieved to see the surgeon stirring. He folded himself over Spinister and glanced up, determined to discover their savior.

It was Drift.

Fulcrum gaped in awe as the white blur sped back and forth, up and down, with incredible speed and agility. The brilliant flashes of his swords followed the streak of his movements, literally cutting the creatures down to a more manageable size. Drift twisted and somersaulted faster than Fulcrum could follow, driving the beasts further back into the forest until all Fulcrum could see was the gleam of the sword's arcs.

Hands suddenly grabbed him; Fulcrum panicked and screamed, using his good arm to blindly lash out until he heard a loud voice sobbing in his audial.

_"It's okay, handsome, we're here- Oh_ Primus, _you're- It's okay! We're taking you home, shhh, it's okay sexy, I got you!"_

Fulcrum tried to respond, garbling his relief at Misfire's foggy face before he passed out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fulcrum onlined slowly, trying to shift to get more comfortable- then froze when he realized he was pinned down. Slag, his frame was _on fire_ and overheated, he had to move, but what...?

"Shhh." A cool hand rested on his forehelm. "You're safe, Fulcrum. Just relax. You are severely damaged, but you will be okay."

Fulcrum blinked away the lingering fuzziness as Drift's face swam into view. At the familiar words, he smiled weakly. "I... I remember that."

"I do too," Drift said quietly.

Memories slammed into his processors, sparking a system-wide seize. "Spin-!" Fulcrum tried to sit up, struggling against his restraints. "Is he-?"

"He has stabalised, he's behind me." Drift leaned to one side, pointing over his shoulder. "Crankcase says he'll recover, though his flight capabilities may be limited from now on."

"Oh no." Fulcrum frowned, attempting to tug his left arm up and failing again. "Why'd you tie me down?"

Drift huffed in amusement. "I didn't. Look."

Fulcrum groaned as he lifted his head, glancing over his frame. A large violet mass was plastered to his midsection, curled around his limbs and holding him still. His head fell back with a tired chuckle. "How long has he been there?"

"As soon as Crankcase and I finished repairs. Misfire assisted too, though he seemed unusually concerned about your fuel pump, which was relatively undamaged. I take the shift watching over you and Spinister when Misfire's recharging. I can move him if it's a problem."

"No, no. He's fine." Fulcrum vented a long, low sigh. "I saw what you did. I've never seen someone so- so _fast._ Skilled. You saved us."

Drift shifted a bit, though his smile remained firmly in place. "You're my crew now," he replied simply. "But if it makes you feel better, I returned a favour."

"Yeah. How'd you get there so fast, though?"

"Spinister's distress beacon. He must've activated it as soon as you got into trouble."

" _I_ don't have one of those!" Fulcrum huffed. "Why didn't I get one? But, I guess one was all we needed-,"

_"FULCRUM!"_

The tech yelped in pain as Misfire squeezed his hold. "H- Holy slag, Misfire, that _hurts!_ Let- Let go!"

"Sorry! Sorry, I'm _sorry,_ lovely, sorry."

Fulcrum vented in relief as the constriction eased and his face was peppered with sloppy kisses. Before his optic offlined, he saw Drift turn with an indulgent smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Gemi and grimcognito, who put up with my cliffhanger today when sending it in chunks for their approval. >:D


	7. Drifted Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spinister is told the extent of his injuries and panics... but not for the reason Fulcrum guesses.

Fulcrum was woken from deep recharge by a loud crash, followed by Crankcase's swearing. A sharp, unfamiliar cry drowned out Drift's quiet murmuring as Fulcrum struggled to sit up, surprisingly unburdened by his clingy jet. His optic flickered on, locating Misfire standing beside him and reached over to gently touch his arm.  
  
"Shhhh," Misfire whispered as he leaned over to press a quick kiss to Fulcrum's audial. "Spin's lost it."  
  
Oh, _that's_ what that keening noise was. Fulcrum cringed in sympathy as he swung his legs over the medical slab, searching in the dimmed lighting for the others. Spinister had rolled onto the floor, crouching at Crankcase and Drift's feet, rocking back and forth as he groaned miserably. Crankcase looked thoroughly unimpressed; Drift, contrarily, appeared upset.  
  
They had been very careful to not mention Spinister's new handicap when he was online and aware, but Fulcrum sincerely doubted Crankcase would have the same courtesy. Although, Spinister had to be told eventually, and it may as well come from the grumpy mech who had been repairing him. From the scene unfolding in front of him, Fulcrum correctly assumed Spinister wasn't taking it well. Fliers had vastly different coding than those that kept their pedes firmly on the ground; Fulcrum couldn't begin to imagine how devastated Spinister must feel.  
  
"No no _no,_ " Spinister sobbed, clutching at Crankcase's legs, who hastily stepped back. "That can't be right. You have to fix me, you _have_ to."  
  
"We don't have the materials," Crankcase muttered, his customary frown deepening. "And even if we did, I don't think I could do it. S'too delicate a procedure for me to reforge the nodes and plugs. I don't have that knowledge-,"  
  
"You _have_ to!" Spinister begged, curling in on himself again. Drift knelt beside him, staring regretfully at the surgeon.  
  
"Spinister, we have done everything we could," Drift said quietly. "Crankcase is correct; only you possess the skills and knowledge to fully repair you. I'm so sorry we can't do more."  
  
"You don't understand," Spinister growled, gripping Drift's shoulder guards and shaking him violently. To his credit, Drift raised his hands defensively but didn't shy away. " _You must fix me before Krok sees me like this._ "  
  
"See?" Misfire murmured to Fulcrum. "I mean, Spin's always been a bit off the racetrack, but he's completely lost it. He just keeps repeating that."  
  
"No..." Fulcrum grimaced as he slid off the slab to stand, wobbling once before catching his balance. "There's more to it. Spinister? What was that about Krok?"  
  
"He can't see me like this," Spinister snarled as he twisted to glare up at the tech. " _Never_."  
  
Fulcrum shook his head as he leaned a thigh against Drift's shoulder for support. Something was off in Spinister's tone; it wasn't like the surgeon to second-guess their commander- at least, not from what Fulcrum had ever experienced. If anything, Spinister could always be counted on to side with Krok, no matter the issue, even if just from a sense of deep-seated loyalty. "Krok is not going to toss you out because you can't fly, Spin. You  know better than that."  
  
Unfortunately, Fulcrum's well-intentioned comment just set the surgeon wailing again. Drift dared to place a gentle hand on a shaking shoulder, leaning closer with dimmed optics. "Spinister, listen to Fulcrum. Krok is not a judgemental mech and, Primus willing, this injury will be temporary."  
  
" _Don't_ give him false hope," Crankcase said sharply, crossing his arms. "He's going to need a proper medic to patch him up, and if you haven't noticed, we aren't on friendly terms with any we do run across."  
  
"It is not _harmful_ to have hope," Drift argued lightly, giving the pilot a disapproving glance. "Besides, you cannot say with any certainty we won't find what you'd call a miracle. Primus guides those who-,"  
  
"Oh _shut up!_ " Crankcase snapped, throwing his arms into the air. "I've had it with you and your religious slag. Get your head outta your aft and rejoin reality!"  
  
To Fulcrum's surprise, Drift's expression calmed at the outburst. "I will excuse your heresy, but I would ask you refrain from-,"  
  
" _Excuse_ -? Go frag yourself, _Autobot_ ," Crankcase snarled, hands curling into fists as he turned and stomped out of the med bay.  
  
Drift stared wide-opticed after him, then looked blankly at Fulcrum as Spinister began sobbing again. "What?"  
  
"I'll explain later," Fulcrum muttered, nodding toward Spinister. Drift frowned grimly in agreement, shifting as Spinister sagged against him. Fulcrum tilted his head up questioningly at Misfire, who had been standing behind them, oddly silent. "Misfire, anything to add? About Spin?"  
  
"Uhmmm." Misfire shifted on his feet nervously. "I probably shouldn't've commed Krok?"  
  
" _No!_ " Spinister's broken posture changed immediately as he lunged for the jet, hands scrabbling for his throat. " _Don't_ let him in, don't let him _know_ , I'm going to _squish_ you!"  
  
Even in his weakened state, it took both Drift and Fulcrum to pull the surgeon off a flailing Misfire. Spinister was still spitting curses and threats when the door pinged open, revealing the mech in question. Spinister's frame shifted again, crumbling to hide ineffectively behind the trio.  
  
"Alright, what crisis needs to be averted _this_ time?" Krok asked warily as he looked to each of them.  
  
"Spinister's lost it," Misfire offered cheerfully, rubbing his jaw. "And he just tried to kill me. Again."  
  
Krok's optics narrowed suspiciously. "What did you do?"  
  
"Nothing!"  
  
"Spin, please," Fulcrum pleaded as he stepped around the clumsy flier and sat on his slab. "You don't need to hide. Talk to Krok."  
  
Spinister shook his head violently, then nearly tipped over. Krok shoved Drift out of the way and helped Spinister straighten, holding him steady with a lingering firm grip. One of Spinister's hands shot up, trying to block Krok's vision.  
  
"Don't look at me!"  
  
"Spinister, I know about your injuries," Krok said patiently as he batted the hand away. "I was the one who carried you onto the ship. Crankcase has kept me updated on your repairs. It is a regrettable loss, but you are alive."  
  
Though Spinister's facemask was, as always, firmly in place, Fulcrum could easily see the abject horror as that information finally sank in. The surgeon's frame went strutless, forcing Krok to bear his weight as he struggled to rest him on the neighboring slab.  
  
"Krok..." Spinister's tone was hollow, devoid of the emotion in his outbursts only a klik ago. "My right wing is gone."  
  
"I know, Spinister."  
  
"And..." Spinister shivered, flinching away from Krok's hold. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be."  
  
"I am." Spinister averted his gaze, his remaining wing drooping woefully. "Now you can't 'face me-,"  
  
Misfire choked noisily.  
  
"-and that's one of three things that makes me happy," Spinister continued in that strangely dead voice. "I like shooting things, fixing things, and 'facing you."  
  
Drift cleared his vocaliser. "Maybe we should-,"  
  
"No, it's fine," Krok muttered. "It's a small ship, Drift, and no one is moving Fulcrum from this room until he's mostly recovered." He shook Spinister roughly. "Look at me, Spin. I said _look at me,_ and that's an order."  
  
Spinister's optics snapped up to his immediately.  
  
"I don't care about your wing," Krok said gruffly. "I do, but not in regards to fragging you." His optics narrowed with a smile. "And you still have one left for me to play with."  
  
They stared at each other until the silence became oppressive; Fulcrum heartily agreed with Drift and wished they could've given them privacy. He had known about the two fragging- it was, as Krok said, a small ship- but with the obvious trauma Spinister was suffering, it seemed a lot more personal. He gripped Misfire's hand, reminded of his own intimate thoughts when he'd been certain he would die. All these emotions tied to simple fragging was very new and very odd.  
  
Finally Spinister's gaze dropped as he broke the silence. "But my cables were severed."  
  
"I know," Krok repeated gently. "Now lie down and rest."  
  
Fulcrum covered his gasp with a hand, horrified. Primus, no wonder Spinister still cried during recharge! Interface cabling was by nature very sensitive and delicate; even if Crankcase covered the damage, it would still be excruciating while healing over. The physical pain on top of his fears- Now Fulcrum fully understood Spinister's urgency to be repaired.  
  
"I'm sorry," Spinister mumbled, subdued.  
  
Krok's gaze flickered over the trio before he briefly placed a hand on Spinister's chassis. "There's more than one way to 'face, Spin. Now rest; we'll talk again when you've recovered."  
  
This time both Spinister and Misfire sputtered and choked as Krok strode out of the med bay. Fulcrum would've laughed at Spinister's astonished expression if he wasn't so shocked himself. _Spark merging?_  Was that what Krok was implying? Unthinkable! No, everyone knew how stupidly _reckless_ it was to bare your spark!  
  
"It's not dangerous," Drift said quietly, and each of them turned to look at him incredulously. "I'm serious. Spark merging is not a danger if you trust the mech you're with."  
  
Misfire burst into laughter, clutching at the edge of the slab. "And how would _you_ know?"  
  
Drift stared at him. Misfire gaped.  
  
"You've actually _done it?!_ "  
  
"Yes, many times," Drift replied, relaxing into faint amusement. "I was a Decepticon. I know what rumours you're told, but most of them are false. It depends upon the rapport you have with your partner. You both should feel safe and secure with each other."  
  
"...That's it?" Spinister asked suspiciously. "Really?"  
  
"That's it."  
  
"Then get over here and teach me," the surgeon demanded, banging his fist on the slab. "Tell me _everything_."  
  
Drift laughed, nodding as he sat beside Spinister. Fulcrum caught Misfire's optics, his faceplates tinged lightly with heat at the thought. Could he do that? Could he be that open and vulnerable in front of another mech?  
  
But Misfire _wasn't_ just another mech. Misfire wanted him to stay, forever; he could feel the insatiable need each time they plugged in. That reassurance did make him feel safe, for lack of a better term.  
  
Predictably, Misfire opened his mouth as he leaned close, but Fulcrum hushed him with a hand.  
  
"Quiet," Fulcrum whispered. "I- I wanna hear what Drift says."  
  
Comprehension dawned quickly on Misfire's face, and the cocky grin made Fulcrum's frame warm with desire.


	8. Set Adrift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Scavengers are attacked, Drift has to improvise a rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beginning images, dialogue and situation taken from MTMTE #20

"Crankcase? Krok?" Fulcrum gave Misfire a worried glance when there was no reply. "Spinister?  _Grimlock?_  Can  _anyone_  hear me?"

"Mebbe the water's interfering?" Misfire suggested around a mouthful.

Fulcrum grimaced, shaking his helm as he slowly backed toward the end of the crane's arm. "Shouldn't. Crankcase? Buddy? We  _really_  need to get going!"

The first of the guards pursuing them reached the flat surface of the crane, stabalising rapidly and dashing after them, weapons drawn and aimed.  _What the slag happened?_  Fulcrum thought to himself, panicked as he gripped Misfire's wrist. Krok would  _never_  abandon them, Fulcrum was absolutely certain, so something must have happened. Something bad.

 The guard's shouts were understandable now, though pretty standard and unimaginative threats. Fulcrum jumped when he felt something clang against his pedes, startled to see Misfire's precious stolen snacks clattering to the metal beneath them.

 "We're gonna hafta jet outta here," Misfire muttered, giving Fulcrum an apologetic smile. Fulcrum's anxiety shot upwards for an entirely different reason; he refused to fly, he completely and utterly refused and Misfire  _knew_  that!

 "No other choice," Misfire added, nodding toward the stampeding guards. "C'mere, handsome, I won't drop you. Promise."

 Fulcrum choked as he felt strong arms circle his waist, pleading brokenly for Misfire to do something else,  _anything_  else-

 Their comms suddenly crackled, hissing in static before the words sharpened. //Raise your hands and surrender peacefully. I can see you, I'm right down here, and I'll get you out of this mess as soon as they bring you down. It's okay, guys, just get down here and we'll leave ASAP.//

 //Drift, what the  _slag-!_ // Fulcrum sent angrily. //Where's Crankcase? What in the Pit is going on?!//

 //Explain later. Surrender  _peacefully_  or this is going to be a lot harder and take up time we don't have.//

 " _Fraggit_ ," Misfire huffed, gripping Fulcrum's wrists and lifting them in the air with his own.

 Bewildered and too outraged to question why Misfire trusted Drift's orders so quickly, Fulcrum simply pressed his back to Misfire's chassis and stood still, the perfect picture of compliance, not resisting when one of the guards tugged them both forward roughly and slapped cuffs on them. 

 //Say nothing,// Drift sent in a warning tone. //I'm serious, Misfire, I can _feel_ your need to blab even from here.//

 Misfire nudged Fulcrum, giving him a gigantic grin that was severely out of place for their current situation- yet he could feel himself offer a quick smile back, firmly keeping his mouth shut.

 After a moment of questioning them and receiving no reply, the guard that had cuffed them pushed them forward, barking at them to get moving. Climbing down was a pain, especially considering Fulcrum had never had the best stabalisers to begin with. Misfire looked completely comfortable though, slowing to keep pace with Fulcrum so he wouldn't be outside of sight. When they reached the ground, they found Drift standing next to a tall, grumpy leviathan of a mech who looked extremely angry. Drift, however, wore a smug expression and Fulcrum could feel confidence radiating through his fields.

 "Release 'em to him," the giant mech growled, smacking Misfire's back to shunt him toward Drift. Several of the guards began protesting, but the mech raised his hand to silence them. "He's got clearance."

 "On whose authority?" one guard piped up.

 Drift took a step forward, catching Fulcrum when he stumbled from a shove. "The authority of Ultra Magnus, Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord."

 A ripple of surprise spread through the small crowd, accompanied by a few gasps as Drift held up a data pad, clearly displaying a rubsign. Fulcrum squinted, then made a noise of surprise as well; it  _looked_ authentic, but how? Not that he'd question their good fortune...

 "If that's all?" Drift asked archly, gripping the thick cuffs on them both and tugging urgently. 

 "Yeah," the bulky mech answered regretfully. "Next time I want you going through proper channels, you get me?"

 Drift's expression melted into one of pure annoyance as he swept a disdainful look over the squad. "Ultra Magnus has more worthy matters for his attention than your pitiable chain of command," Drift replied in a flat tone Fulcrum had never heard him use. "I suggest you fix your gaps in security before Ultra Magnus sends me here again."

 A glower. "Yessir."

 " _Hmph._ " Drift pulled on the cuffs again, thankfully signalling the end of the awkward conversation as they hurried away. To his credit, Misfire kept his voice nearly to a whisper as they scurried around a corner.

 "What's going on? How'd you fake that sig? Where's Crankcase? What the Pit is Krok doing, letting you out here by yourself with no backup? Where-,"

 "There was- an attack," Drift replied quietly, frowning at them. "I don't know what happened, but whatever it was went away just as fast as it hit. I think they're okay, but I had to leave them to fetch you two."

 "An  _attack?!_  Scrap," Fulcrum breathed. "I  _knew_  something was wrong. Who was it?"

 "It wasn't a... conventional attack," Drift admitted uneasily. "It was- It was _horrible_. One second I was talking with Spin and the next they were screaming in  _pain_  and- and- I don't know. Down here," he added, veering toward a dim hallway. "There's a porthole that leads down to the reservoir. I don't know what we're up against, but we  _aren't_  prepared for it. The faster we leave, the better."

 Misfire whined, holding up his bound wrists, and Drift huffed in amusement as he withdrew a sword. With two precise swipes their cuff's links shattered, and Fulcrum sighed in relief before hurrying after Drift's retreating back. On the short swim to the ship, he pondered Drift's explanation; just what was an attack that wasn't an attack? It sounded like they'd been hit by some sudden glitch? Or disease? 

 No matter what, Drift was right; they had to get out of there, _fast._

 They waited impatiently in the outer chamber for the water to drain before they could step inside the ship proper. As soon as the doors slid open, a dark hand shot forward, grasping Drift by the neck and dragging him in. The crew was all gathered there with dour expressions, Grimlock snarling furiously as he held a struggling Drift aloft.

 "Whoa, whoa!" Fulcrum rushed to Grimlock's side, trying to pull on his arm. "What are you doing? Drift saved us!"

 "You have one chance to explain yourself, Drift," Krok snapped, ignoring Fulcrum's feeble attempts to lower their friend. "Did you start that attack, or end it?"

 "Didn't- do either-," Drift gasped, trying desperately to loosen Grimlock's grip. "Dunno-  _what-_ was!"

 "He doesn't know any more than we do," Misfire said quickly, punching Grimlock's arm ineffectively. "Let him down!"

 "Why do you think he had anything to do with it at all?" Fulcrum asked curiously.

 "It hit all of us except _him_ ," Crankcase growled. "Him and the only other Autobot on the ship. What would  _you_  think?"

 "I think we need to get out of here," Fulcrum said anxiously. "Before it hits again."

 "Good point," Spinister nodded, tilting his head up at the kicking Autobot. "Besides, Krok, I've been watching him all shift. We were all talking when it hit. I didn't see him do anything."

 Grimlock rumbled threateningly, but set Drift on his pedes again and shoved him into the opposite wall. Drift coughed, clutching at his throat as he wheezed. "Decepticon not hurt crew?" Grimlock asked uncertainly.

 " _Never_ ," Drift spat vehemently, straightening with a defiant stare. "I will never betray any of you. I know of no Autobot weapon that does- _that_ ," he added, nodding slightly at Krok. "Nor Decepticon, for that matter, though my 'Con info is out of date."

 "Never seen anything like that," Spinister muttered, setting a heavy hand on Krok's shoulder and pulling him close. "Never _felt_ anything like that, either, and I've been through a lot."

 "We all have," Krok mumbled with a sigh. "Crankcase, get us out of here,  _now_. Grimlock, you go with in case he runs into any snags getting us out."

 Grimlock growled in appreciation and stomped after the pilot. Krok sighed again, turning back to Drift and gesturing between them.

 "You okay?" he asked gruffly.

 Drift nodded as he pushed away from the wall. "Physically, yes. I'm worried about what happened; that looked extremely painful. I'm worried why I wasn't targeted. I'm worried why  _you_  were."

 "Worry later," Fulcrum replied with a wide smile. "We're all together, and soon we'll be just another speck out in space."

 Misfire perked, wrapping his arms around Fulcrum from behind as he grinned over his shoulder. "So how'd you fake that rubsign, Drift? That was _impressive_. Teach me."

 Drift chuckled. "I've seen Ultra Magnus' rubsign entirely too much while I worked with him."

 "You worked with  _Ultra Magnus?_ " Krok huffed, optics widened in awe. "The immortal Ultra Magnus? The Enforcer that survived a K-classer raid? _Primus_ , you've worked with Hatchet, and now this? Just who the Pit  _are_  you, Drift?"

 The swordsmech shrugged, fields flickering with embarrassment as he looked to the side. "I'm no one important, Krok."

 "I don't believe that for a second," Fulcrum smiled, playfully nudging his arm with a fist. "None of us do. You can't fool us, Drift."

 "Yeah, the more we know about you, the more awesome you are," Misfire added.

 Drift glanced up at him, looking startled before his expression softened. "Thank you, Misfire."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point onwards, I want to make it clear I'll be ignoring anything related to the Dark Cybertron story arc. This fic series was started before Dark Cybertron was released, and as I consider it mostly a steaming pile of crap, I'm going with my original slant on this story and ignoring canon.


	9. Inner Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krok has some serious questions for Drift in the aftermath of the unknown attack.

Fulcrum jumped as there was a heavy thud next to him, glancing over to see Krok had settled on the bench next to him. The tech and Drift had been engaged in a friendly argument over the best use of scraps they'd picked up the shift before; Krok's addition to the conversation would be interesting, to say the least. Krok was clear that he was hopelessly lost in technical details, but Fulcrum had discovered his humble admission had eclipsed the strategist's natural ability to organise and designate resources.

 Drift reached behind him to fill half a cube for the leader, throwing Fulcrum a dirty look as he did. "I'm not saying we  _shouldn't_  strip the wiring, Fulcrum! What I meant was it'd be more beneficial to set aside three of them for safety measures."

 Fulcrum snorted into his cube before draining it. "If you haven't noticed, Drift, this ship doesn't exactly run on the concept of _safety_."

 "You have to start somewhere," Drift countered with a huff, sliding the cube to Krok.

 "We can't spare those for storage!" Fulcrum gestured widely, nearly hitting Misfire as the jet wandered in and flopped beside him. Firmly sandwiched between the two, Fulcrum leaned into Misfire's frame to gain some space between he and Krok. "You saw the engine yesterday, you know what repairs we have to do. We have to use everything we picked up."

 "But-," Drift sighed, resting a chin in one propped hand. "Okay. One, then? The bypasses won't need every wire. Just one, Fulcrum."

 Fulcrum's face scrunched as he calculated. 

 Drift smiled at the hesitation, sensing victory. "For me?" he asked in an unusually plaintive tone. "You know I can't  _stand_  you burning your fingertips on those bare fuses. Or anyone else, for that matter."

 Fulcrum groaned, smashing his face into Misfire's shoulder. "Fine, fine. You're right; we can afford one. _Just one._ "

 Drift gave a quiet chirr of triumph before relaxing into the companionable silence that followed. Misfire seemed somewhat subdued, content to nuzzle and hug Fulcrum rather than talk, which suited the tech just fine. Yesterday had been exhausting, stripping a floating junked ship they'd stumbled upon, with little rest between hastily making much needed repairs with what they could scavenge. 

 "Drift."

 They others moved to look over at Krok, who had spoken directly to the Autobot. Drift straightened imperceptibly at being addressed.

 "Yes?"

 Krok sighed, a heavy sound that broke the previous pleasant atmosphere. "I think it's time you told us how we found you. I'm still giving you the choice to tell us or not," he added, pointing at Drift, then himself, "since we all have secrets and issues we want to keep to ourselves. But things keep not adding up about you, and it makes me uneasy.  _Doesn't_ mean I don't trust you to remain a very needed part of the crew, but I'd like to know about any more surprises upfront."

 This time the silence was stretched, tense; Misfire had gone still against Fulcrum as they listened to the borderline-ordered request. Finally Drift broke his gaze with Krok, optics flickering to stare at the table instead.

 "I assume you know Deadlock's history," Drift said flatly, shoulders twitching once at the designation. "I'll spare the interim details to get straight to the point."

 "Would be appreciated," Krok replied gruffly.

 "I was exiled from the Autobots," Drift continued, his voice calmer. "However, I- I insisted upon it after there was an- incident aboard the ship I was on."

 "That doesn't sound very smart," Misfire interjected, recoiling when Drift turned a sharp glare on him. "Well, it  _doesn't!_  You had a fragging good life on that ship. Context, Drift. C'mon."

 "The context is, my captain did something extremely foolish in a moment of weakness," Drift snapped defensively. "When this incident occurred,  _someone_  had to take responsibility, and-," His gaze flickered up to meet Fulcrum's, optics dim with emotion. "The crew needed-  _needs_  their captain, whereas I am expendable. I have only ever existed on the fringes of Autobot society anyway; it was best that the crew lose me, instead of their leader." He sighed, a soft short noise. "It was difficult to convince my captain and the few who knew the truth to let me confess and accept punishment, but in the end they realised I was right."

 Drift's gaze slid between each of them in the quiet that followed while they absorbed this information. Fulcrum wasn't necessarily surprised that an Autobot would willingly deceive another, but to let Drift take the blame when he'd done nothing?

 "You were wrong," Krok spoke up suddenly.

 Drift jerked in surprise, mouth opening to protest, but Misfire cut him off.

 "Slag, that's  _so_  wrong," the jet rumbled, one arm tightening around Fulcrum's waist.

 "They needed a new captain, not to get rid of you," Krok added, optics narrowed with a frown. "And they were idiots to go along with it."

 "You don't  _understand_ ," Drift seethed, slamming a fist on the table. Fulcrum gave a quick huff in surprise, and Drift pulled his hands back out of sight with an apologetic look. "I'm sorry- but, not sorry for my choice. You don't understand the circumstances. You didn't see how Rodimus- my captain- could inspire hundreds of mechs for a greater cause, a greater good. Yes, he is... not perfect," Drift drawled, "but he has so much more to offer the crew than I."

 "Leading a crew to ruin with good intentions is still a failure of the duty," Krok intoned, crossing his arms as he leaned back. "Allowing a warrior as skilled and loyal as you out of his grasp was one of his greatest mistakes- though I can't complain, since we're benefiting from his stupidity."

 Drift's backstruts stiffened, leveling another stare at Krok. "I will tolerate no more ill talk of Rodimus from those who do not know him."

 "He sent you off to die," Fulcrum said quietly, frowning when Drift's shoulders twitched again. "I crawled all through that wreckage we found you in. It was a short range vessel. Even carrying as much as you physically could, there was  _nothing_  in that sector we found you in. It's  _known_  to be deserted."

 Drift audibly sucked in an intake, but remained silent.

 "I've told you this once," Krok said as he moved to stand, rubbing lightly at a jagged old scar in his hip, "you don't have to stay here. We get within populated ports at times, and you're always free to go. But," he said, optics flaring brightly, "even with our limited lifestyle, I'd prefer you stay."

 "Rodimus  _didn't_ want me to leave," Drift replied sharply.

 "And you're still on my ship," Krok huffed. "Damn fool Autobots, tossing away their best like so much trash. No, Drift, I'm not gonna say anything else about it," he said, raising a hand when Drift began arguing. "You're here, and that's all that matters to me. You have your freedom- within the few rules we all follow aboard my ship- and your choice to stay or leave. Thank you for explaining; that... cleared up what I needed to know."

 Drift tilted his head. "...You don't want to know what happened?"

 "Don't need to know the details, unless you want to spill them when we get our hands on some high grade," Krok replied with a warmer slant to his voice. "You three, get some rest. Worked hard last shift."

 Drift finally collapsed against the table once Krok stomped out of the tiny room, burying his face in his folded arms. Fulcrum and Misfire exchanged a pointed look.

 //He looks like slag,// Misfire commed. 

 //Probably feels like it,// Fulcrum agreed. //Can't have been easy explaining all that.//

 //Brought up some nasty slag, looks like.//

 Fulcrum nodded hastily, waiting for Misfire's gentle squeeze of agreement before he tilted forward, tapping on Drift's arm. "Hey."

 "I don't want to talk about it," Drift said curtly without moving.

 "Good, 'cause we don't wanna hear it," Misfire said cheerfully, then yelped when Fulcrum elbowed him hard. "What?!"

 " _Primus,_  Misfire, you can be so nice and then such a gigantic aft," Fulcrum muttered, pleased when he saw Drift lift his head and chuckle. "Hey, ah. You wanna recharge with us? Might help if this, ah..." Fulcrum shrugged, embarrassed. "Bad memories."

 Drift brightened, his smile widening. "It did, and- I'd really appreciate it."

 "Good," Fulcrum said slyly, "you can be my buffer between Misfire's horrific snoring."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend for Krok to appear too quick to defend Drift here; from his perspective, what little we know of his background and my interpretation of his personality, Krok would take something like forced exile _extremely_ seriously. Considering Drift's voluntary banishment, when he was an innocent of the incident, Krok would have kittens over Drift getting exiled.


	10. A Pinch of Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift has a nightmare, which sparks an interesting conversation.

An elbow to the face was  _not_ a pleasant way to wake up from recharge; Fulcrum howled in pain as someone climbed over him and raced out of the room, leaving him moaning and clutching his helm. Behind him he heard Misfire's distinctive ex-vents, which furthered his confusion until he remembered Drift. It had taken some convincing with both Misfire and he tag-teaming Drift, but eventually the swordsmech had agreed to recharge with them when their offshifts coincided. Fulcrum was very happy to have yet another mech to leech heat from, and Misfire had an extra body to cuddle; though Drift hadn't volunteered any specifics, he'd seemed to enjoy the new arrangement as well.

Except now, with him tearing off like his aft was on fire. Fulcrum sighed, rolling out of berth and tucking the worn blanket up against Misfire before plodding after his friend. Unfortunately, Drift could be extremely sneaky when he wished to, and after a few kliks Fulcrum was becoming frustrated. Where had Drift gone? Why had Drift left in such a hurry? He had an idea of what could cause a mech to bolt in such a panic, which kept him sighing and trudging on, searching each room diligently. 

Eventually he stumbled upon an odd sight; Crankcase was squatting next to a bench overloaded with scraps, talking quietly to the air. Once Fulcrum shuffled closer, he could see the twin pinpoints of aqua optics hovering in the shadows beneath the shelving. 

"Drift, c'mon," Crankcase huffed, offering a hand. "You're safe. You're on the WAP with us. See? Here's your buddy Fulcrum. Come back to reality, Drift." 

"What's wrong?" Fulcrum whispered as he knelt beside him. From this vantage point, he could see Drift curled into as small a space as possible, flinching away from Crankcase's hand. "Drift?" 

"Bad recall, I'm guessing," Crankcase muttered. "C'mon, Drift. You're safe. You're on the WAP with us." 

The optics widened, then finally narrowed in recognition. "C- Crankcase? I- Yeah. Okay." Slowly, carefully Drift shimmied out, his limbs and chassis webbed with dirt and dust, which Fulcrum absently began rubbing off. "I was-," 

"No need to explain," Crankcase said gruffly as he lurched to his feet as well. "Unless you really want to." 

"...Not particularly." Drift's gaze darted between them, still looking a bit nervous. "But, thank you, Crankcase. How did you know that would work?" 

"Spin's done it for me," Crankcase shrugged. "Those bad recalls make me see another time and place, even when I'm awake. That's the only thing that's brought me outta them without violence." 

"Yeah." Drift began helping brush himself off, though his plating remained dulled in most places. "Thank Primus you knew what-," 

" _Don't_." Instead of Crankcase's usual anger, he merely sounded tired this time. "Don't say slag like that to me." 

Drift straightened imperceptibly; Fulcrum tensed beside him, squeezing his arm in warning. However, Drift ignored the touch and tilted his head as he asked, "Can I ask why?" 

"I think we should-," Fuclrum began, but Crankcase waved him quiet. 

"No, he needs to hear this so he'll  _stop_ ," the pilot growled, stepping up to Drift and glaring. With his perpetually exposed circuitry, Fulcrum had always been impressed with how much of a glower Crankcase could muster, even with a cracked visor. "You know your Ratchet?" 

Drift blinked, surprised by the question. "Yes," he drawled, "what does Ratchet have to do with anything?"

"I  _lost_ my Ratchet," Crankcase snarled, poking Drift in the chassis angrily. "He was just like  _you_ , spouting all this religious nonsense and going on about  _Primus this, Primus that_. It was a coping mechanism, a crutch for his shattered mind, so I didn't say much about it." Crankcase's visor dimmed as he stepped back, mouth digging into a deep frown. "His last words were spent  _begging_  Primus to save him. I watched them murder him. I picked his frame apart after he was dead.   _Where was your Primus then?!_ " he shouted, gripping Drift's arm and shaking him roughly. " _Where was he?!_ "

Drift moved quickly, encircling Crankcase with his free arm and holding him close as the pilot shook with his sobs. Fulcrum shifted his weight anxiously; he'd been more than aware of Crankcase's previous relationship with their lost team member, but hadn't realised how deep the hurt ran. This wasn't Crankcase mourning the loss of a fellow berth warmer; this was _grief_ , raw and emotional. 

They really  _were_ a poor lot of Decepticons. 

"What're you doing, Autobot?" 

Fulcrum hid a grin as Drift smiled and let go of the other mech, courteously brushing off transferred dust. "It's called a hug." 

"Hmph. Smartaft." Crankcase rolled a shoulder uncomfortably. "Do me a favour and forget the last klik." 

"Yessir," Drift replied quietly.

"And quit  _smiling_ at me like that," Crankcase grunted, pushing Drift aside to pass by. "Fraggin' daft Autobot, you should be holed up in the cargo bay with the other one." 

"I think that means he likes you," Fulcrum whispered loudly, laughing in relief when Crankcase flipped them off as he walked away.


	11. Drifting Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift and Misfire accidentally imbibe more than they'd meant to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _finally_ wrote porn of my OTP for my birthday! Enjoy :)

Going to a bar wasn't Fulcrum's idea of a fun way to spend their short evening of shore leave; unfortunately he'd been outvoted by his laughing friends. He had immediately been distracted by the long line of open-air stalls and shops, but his protests had gone unheeded as Misfire and Drift dragged him toward the more densely populated area of the outpost. 

And so here he sat, perched on a flimsy stool as he watched his friends gulp expensive drinks, marveling that Drift paid each time a new round was ordered. He hadn't given any thought to Drift's finances; he was like them, wasn't he? When he'd been exiled, hadn't his accounts been frozen? And yet, Drift merrily kept piling shanix on the counter and Misfire kept stacking them in careful towers- and when those ran out, Fulcrum could've sworn Drift flashed one of the rare and expensive Gold Cards. Yet another mystery hidden in the ex-Con's past, and one they wouldn't question as long as Drift was willing to help pay for repairs and fuel on top of extras.

Fulcrum kept to simple oil- though a rich medical grade, since Drift had babbled happily about paying for his drinks as well. He had to stay sober for his two idiots, who seemed determined to get  _completely_ blitzed before they had to return to the ship. He shook his head, though he kept his mouth shut; he couldn't fault his friends for wanting an excuse to not think for a while. Drift had been having more of his waking nightmares lately, which led to he and Misfire willingly losing recharge to keep him calm and aware. Whatever was haunting Drift's past was catching up to him, and Fulcrum had no idea how to fight bad memories, especially for someone else.

His musings were interrupted by Misfire gripping his forearm and sliding closer, red optics unfocused as the jet leaned in.

"Mmmm Fulcrum, you're so  _pretty_ ," Misfire giggled.

Fulcrum huffed, accepting the sloppy kiss with grace. "Thank you," he mumbled.

"Real pretty," Misfire emphasised dreamily. "Not- Not- You're not that ugly tan colour 'nymore. Nice. Nice colours."

Fulcrum frowned, giving his chassis a customary glance before he laughed. "Right. Okay, Misfire, I think it's time to stop."

"Pretty colours," Misfire laughed with him, stretching his hand out and staring at it in an uncanny mimicry of Spinister. 

"What are you talking about?"  Fulcrum slid over to stand, pushing the half-finished cube away from the jet. "I think we sh-,"

A loud bang made Fulcrum start, staring in disbelief as Drift stood shakily, his fists slammed into the bar before he vaulted over it and loomed over the minibot behind it. Before Fulcrum could react, Drift had grabbed the smaller bot by the throat and lifted him up.

" _What was in my drink?!_ " Drift roared, shaking the hapless bot.

"Drift! Stop!" Fulcrum gasped, alarmed at the sudden aggression. "What are you-,"

"This glitch spiked my drink," Drift growled. "What was it? Speeders? White Noise? Static?  _Tell me!_ "

"You  _ordered_ it!" the minibot screeched, legs kicking futilely at Drift. "You wanted the m- most expensive drink I got! Menu's up there, you sl- slagger! Don't you  _read?!_ "

Drift froze, his grip loosening and unceremoniously dumping the bot on the floor. He turned, seeking Fulcrum's gaze, sheer panic lighting his overly bright optics. Fulcrum reached out to him again and this time Drift accepted the hand, gingerly crawling over the bar.

"Fraggers outta my bar!" the minibot ordered, gesturing at the door with a gun. " _Now!_ "

"We are," Fulcrum replied soothingly, gathering Misfire and Drift to each of his sides. "We're going now, no need for violence."

"Fulcrum," Drift hissed as they swerved toward the exit, "I can't- I- What was in my drink?"

Fulcrum stared at him, startled again as the implications hit him, then glanced up at the softly lit board. He had assumed it was advertisements- presumably the others had too- or else he would've marched them all out as soon as they ducked inside. He scanned the list rapidly, listing the unfamiliar names until he got to one in particular.

" _Syk_ ," Drift growled, shuddering heavily. "Gotta- Fulcrum, get me to the ship 'n lock me up."

" _What?_ " 

Drift's optics snapped angrily. "Do it, or I'll do it myself! Just- hurry!"

Fulcrum didn't want to argue with that tone; he'd never heard fury in Drift's voice, not like this. His frame ached under the weight of both of them, doing his best to keep them walking in a straight line as fast as they could manage. Misfire was babbling and giggling to himself, reaching up to touch things only he could see. It frightened him.

"Uhm, Drift, Misfire had something called Static?"

"He'll be fine," Drift said gruffly, optics squeezed shut in a painful grimace. "He- He'll just see things for a bit. Get real tired."

"How, uh, how do you-?" Fulcrum asked, but Drift cut him off with a glare and he fell silent the rest of the way to the ship. Relief flooded the tech when he noted Krok outside the ramp, counting off shipments that were stacked by it. He called for help, staggering under his friends as Krok looked up and jogged over.

"So _that's_  what you three have been up to," Krok sighed as he gently wound Drift's arm around his shoulders. "I should've guessed."

"Lock me up," Drift growled with a heavy shudder.

"...How much did you have?" Krok chuckled. "I don't think that's-,"

"It's not how much, it's  _what_ ," Drift snapped back.

Fulcrum shrugged helplessly as Krok turned his sharp gaze on the technician. "They ordered drinks with... extras by mistake. Misfire's okay, just gotta sleep this off, but Drift keeps saying to throw him in the container unit and I don't know why." He started when Drift lunged forward, practically dragging Krok with him. "Drift, stop, you're going to be  _fine_."

Drift's optics closed with a grimace. "Syk  _does things_  to me. Please, Krok, I can't- You can't trust me right now."

Fulcrum could  _feel_ the immediate worry wash over their captain as they struggled up the ramp as a group. "I'll handle this one," Krok grunted, nodding toward Drift. "You can handle Misfire right? Good. Update me on any changes."

Misfire waved languidly as Krok and Drift weaved down the hall away from them, then wrapped his arms around Fulcrum's neck, leaning in close to plant more messy kisses along his helm. Fulcrum snorted and pushed him off to regain personal space, but lost it a second later as Misfire bent and curled his hands around Fulcrum's arm.

"C'mon, c'mon loser, I gotta show you somethin'!"

"As long as it's in the direction of our berth," Fulcrum muttered.

Misfire turned slowly, wings scraping the walls as he threw a twisted grin at him. "I like how you think."

A sliver of heat crept through Fulcrum's frame as he bounced alongside the jet, shaking his head rapidly. "No! I didn't mean that. You've  _got_ to rest, Misfire, and I don't want to hear any arguments about-," He stumbled on his next words as Misfire tugged him in their room- little more than a storage closet, but it worked- and he clumsily fell into Misfire's waiting lap, his hands automatically finding the long-memorised sensitive seams. He licked his lips and tried again. "Misfire, I meant actual rest. As in recharge."

"Later," Misfire grinned, kicking the door shut as he encircled Fulcrum's small waist with his arms. "Got something to show you."

"As interested as- as I am, we c-can't," Fulcrum laughed, squirming as one of Misfire's hands tickled a string of wiring in his hip. "You're intoxicated, I'm not going to- Misfire,  _don't_." His voice climbed several pitches as the clever fingers dug deeper. "Stop!"

Misfire froze, his smile melting into a severe frown as he leaned back against the wall. "Why?"

" _Because_ ," Fulcrum sighed, venting warm air as his shoulders drooped. "I'm just-  I'm just not like that, Misfire. As soon as you're sober you can attack me all you want."

"Really?" Misfire perked, then frowned again. "No, stop  _distracting_ me! I wanna- I  _need_ to show you somethin'. I planned this, 'kay?"

"I- What?" Fulcrum's optics narrowed. " _You?_  Somehow I doubt that."

Misfire laughed at that, scuffing the techie on the shoulder. "I know, right? Knew I had to be drunk to do this. Jus'- Jus' sit right there. Okay? Okay. I'm gonna- Watch."

Fulcrum fussed and sat back, crossing his arms in a show of impatience when he heard an unfamiliar series of clicks and whirring. Misfire was staring pensively at him, an odd expression he'd rarely seen the jet wear outside of times of certain death and doom. The noises grew louder, closer, seemingly emanating from Misfire's  _chassis_. What in the universe was the jet doing?

Seconds later, when the purple armour began transforming and folding away, Fulcrum was seized by a sudden panic. He thrust his hands over the shifting plates, shaking his head fearfully. "Misfire-  _No!_  No, you can't do  _that_ , that's- that's  _insane!_ "

"I wanna," Misfire snapped, grabbing Fulcrum's wrists and twisting them away. "Drift said it's safe."

Fulcrum's optics widened as more layers were revealed, the transformation speeding up as it neared Misfire's core. "No! Listen to me, Misfire, Drift has lived in a  _very different_  world than us. Maybe it's been 'safe' for him, but you know how dangerous it.. it is.."

His voice trailed off as a sliver of bright light nearly blinded him, forced his optics to dial down as he stared. Terrified, frozen in place, he couldn't force any more words past his vocaliser as the brilliant gap widened, revealing a whorl of blue and golden light. The tendrils whitened at the tips, twisting and merging and separating in a lively dance that mimicked the entity himself. 

Fulcrum had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

"Well?"

Fulcrum's gaze snapped up, finding Misfire still looking a bit nervous. Slowly, carefully, Fulcrum freed his hands and brought them up, tracing the sides of his lover's face. "I've seen sparks," he admitted in a whisper, "but they were sparks in pain. Dying. I've never- You're  _incredible_ , Misfire."

The jet sagged against the wall, relief painted across his features as he smiled tiredly. "M'serious about you, loser. I'm keeping you and I want you to stay."

"No slag," Fulcrum mumbled with an anxious laugh. His hands dipped lower, outlining the jet's long neck before sliding down to the hover just above the spark chamber. This close, he could feel the thrum and pulse of Misfire's spark through his fingers, sparking waves of heated pleasure through his own frame. 

"Do it," Misfire pleaded, arching toward him. 

Fulcrum vented harshly, frightened he was even considering it. Drift had warned them that sparks were- obviously- fragile, though gentle manipulation could lead to the greatest pleasures a mech could experience aside from a merge itself. Certainly Fulcrum had a delicate touch both from inherent skill and training, but to mess around in someone else's lifeforce? What if he  _hurt_ Misfire? What if he-

" _Do it_ ," Misfire moaned, tugging on the slim waist urgently, and Fulcrum's hand slipped.

As soon as a finger touched one of the tendrils, it felt like pure electricity was poured into Fulcrum's frame. Both of them shouted in shock and pleasure, their plating clanking from their shudders. Misfire's optics had already dimmed, head thrown back as he writhed closer, babbling a string of nonsense that sounded vaguely demanding. Once Fulcrum could think past the pulsating energy, he slowly rotated his hand, careful to keep his fingers far from the solid-light core. Misfire twitched and groaned, his expression melting into bliss. Feeling bolder, Fulcrum brought his other hand down and skirted the edge of the chamber, applying slight pressure to the heated metal and Misfire came undone with a scream, jerking under Fulcrum's legs as a rapid pulse of energy dispersed and shot into the technician.

For the first time in his life, Fulcrum's spark chamber began pinging insistently to open. So lost to Misfire's raw pleasure, he ignored the protocol by shunting it aside- which gave it permission to continue in his feedback subroutines. He gasped as his own armour began to break apart painlessly, small puffs of dust releasing from the too-tight seams that hadn't been opened since his reformat. A new thrill of fear raced through him but he remained still, letting the transformation happen even as he shook with apprehension. If Misfire could do this- if Drift could- then so could he. Right?

He watched in astonishment when Misfire's face was bathed in a soft green and red hue as his spark chamber spiraled open. Misfire's optics flickered online, grinning as he struggled to shimmy more upright, the grip on Fulcrum's hips tightening to nearly painful.

"Oh  _hot slag_ , sweetspark," Misfire vented softly, optics darting up to meet Fulcrum's before returning to his spark. "Not sure if- if it's just the drugs or what but you're the prettiest sight in the galaxy."

It amazed Fulcrum he could still feel a tingle of embarrassment at this stage. He ducked his head, staring nervously at the flickers of energy at the edge of his vision. They really,  _really_ shouldn't be doing this, especially with Misfire's condition, but-

Pleasure lanced through Fulcrum and he choked, backstruts straightening in shock as Misfire's fingers dove into his spark. It was the most incredibly odd sensation Fulcrum had experienced, including all the experimental torture in his past. And yet, his earlier terror finally calmed, soothed by Misfire's clumsy plucking at his spark. He leaned in, desperate for more contact, any contact, when another bolt of energy shot through his frame. Misfire cried out in tandem, gasping as both arms wrapped around Fulcrum's back to tug insistently. Glancing down, Fulcrum noticed the outer whorls of their spark energy had connected, searing bliss through his processor repeatedly.

"More?" Misfire begged, scrabbling at Fulcrum's back. "Please,  _please!_ "

His frame seemed to agree on instinct, pitching Fulcrum forward to press their chambers together, and in an instant reality blossomed into white-hot pleasure. 

Gradually Fulcrum's senses returned online, though the start-up protocols felt... off. He could feel himself clinging to Misfire's bulkier frame, yet at the same time he felt the curves of his own hips beneath his hands. Groggily he tried to pick through the sensory input, belatedly realising it wasn't all his. 

One optic winked on, finding Misfire's softly glowing optics already staring back.  _My favourite sight_ , Fulcrum thought tiredly,  _Misfire finally worn out after fragging._

"Why thank you, loser," Misfire giggled.

Fulcrum started; it was the strangest sensation to both feel and hear Misfire speak and move. Their sparks were still linked, and thus all their software- oh Primus, had Misfire been poking around in his memory banks?!

"Relax," Misfire yawned, crushing Fulcrum to his chassis as he tilted to the side, laying them in a sprawl on the berth. "Firewalls are good. 'Member? Drift said so."

Both Misfire's and his own memories of that conversation drifted through his processors and Fulcrum's tension melted as he cuddled closer. "I remember. I can't believe we..."

"Gonna keep you," Misfire mumbled drowsily, nudging Fulcrum's head beneath his chin. "Forever."

And Fulcrum could  _feel_ Misfire's sincerity, the dogged determination of  _THIS IS MINE_ , and he began laughing softly to himself as they slipped into recharge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From my own colour headcanon:  
> Misfire's spark is blue-amber (confidence and opposites, respectively)  
> Fulcrum's spark is green-red (pain and curiosity)


	12. Drugged and Drift'd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Scavengers help Drift down from his accidental exposure to Syk.

Fulcrum was horrified to find his spark chamber still ajar when he jolted online. One of Misfire’s hands had ghosted over the gap, startling him with a warm surge of pleasure. Quietly he pulled himself from Misfire’s loose grip, closing his chamber and straightening beside the berth. A soft snuffle caught his attention and he smiled down at the sleeping jet, sliding a hand affectionately over a thigh before he stepped outside the room and leaned against the wall.  
  
A short diagnosis returned a string of normal results, staving off the rising panic. As far as he could discern, the spark merge had no negative effects on his processors or neutral systems; actually, the numbers were slightly higher than usual. Strange, but oddly hilarious, and Fulcrum had to smother a laugh behind a hand.  
  
A distant clatter made Fulcrum start again, tilting his helm curiously as it was followed by a series of clangs and yells. One peek in the room reassured him Misfire was recharging peacefully and not the cause of the noises before he jogged down the hall. To his surprise, he found Crankcase and Spinister crowded by a doorway, muttering in low tones.  
  
“What’s going on?” Fulcrum began, then huffed when Spinister wrapped a thick arm around his helm to cover his mouth.  
  
“Shhh,” Crankcase mumbled, jerking a thumb toward the doorway. “Drift’s gone Deadlock on us.”  
  
“Wha?” Fulcrum gasped around the black fingers, optics widening as the past evening replayed through his processors. Drift, angry and bitter, demanding to be locked down because of- What had it been? Syk? He struggled against the surgeon’s hold, relieved when Spinister released him with little fuss. Carefully he stepped forward, stretching to the tip of his pedes to look over Crankcase’s shoulder, then bit back a cry.  
  
In the secondary storage hold, Krok and Drift were throwing punches and kicks, randomly crashing into and falling over crates and bins, scattering the contents wildly. Over the cacophony of squealing metal and cracked plating, Fulcrum could hear Drift spitting profanity and threats at their retreating captain, who rapidly gave ground under the constant assault. The room was only so large, however, so they were circling it rapidly as Krok dodged and backpedaled.  
  
“Why- What’s-?” Fulcrum stuttered, but Crankcase shrugged.  
  
“Drift said he was off,” Spinister growled, thumbing the side of a holstered gun. “Took something that made him crazy. Krok won’t let me shoot him.”  
  
“I remember,” Fulcrum whispered, cringing when Krok stumbled and took a punch to his lower back. “But- We’ve gotta-,”  
  
“What?” Crankcase snapped, crossing his arms. “Krok told us to stay put or he’d space us. Said he’d help Drift work it outta his systems. _Great_ idea.”  
  
Fulcrum scowled at the sarcasm, then yelped when his aft was pinched. He opened his mouth to yell at Spinister when he half-turned and found a sleepy pair of optics staring over his shoulder. “Misfire? What are you doing up? You’ve got to rest-,”  
  
“Nah,” Misfire yawned, blinking slowly. “You know how my systems blow through, uh, additives. Why’s Drift trying to kill our good captain? Krok hasn’t poisoned us lately.”  
  
“You mean _you_ haven’t,” Crankcase muttered.  
  
“It’s the Syk he accidentally ingested at the bar, I think,” Fulcrum explained hastily. “Remember how he-,”  
  
“Attacked the bartender? That was _awesome_ ,” Misfire grinned, then sobered just as quickly. “Krok _didn’t_ poison him, did he?”  
  
“No,” Fulcrum huffed. “This must be why Drift was insisting on being locked away.”  
  
They all jumped as Drift snarled and threw a capacitor at Krok, which missed and shattered against a wall. “Sooooo, what are we going to do?” Misfire quipped, nuzzling at Fulcrum’s helm. “I’m all for taking bets, but shouldn’t someone step in?”  
  
“It’s bad enough I gotta keep Spin from charging in,” Crankcase sighed. “I figured you two would have enough sense. Bah. Who am I kidding?”  
  
“Well, not like I’m volunteering to throw myself in front of a rampaging former-Decepticon-who-might-still-be-one,” Misfire mused.  
  
Fulcrum sighed, twisting just enough to give them all an exasperated glare before taking a tentative step inside the hold. Misfire squawked behind him, but he shrugged off the jet’s grip and pressed forward. “Drift? Drift!”  
  
“Get back,” Krok snarled, ducking behind a workstation. “Fulcrum, stop.”  
  
His spark whirling wildly, Fulcrum held up his hands and waved to get his friend’s attention. “Drift! Please, calm down. I know you’re in there.”  
  
“Fulcrum, retreat, that’s an order!” Krok snapped, pointing briefly at him. Drift followed the line of sight, and the narrowed optics locked onto Fulcrum’s.  
  
A second later, Fulcrum was rethinking his plan when Drift crouched, _stalking_ him with uncanny grace as he moved closer. He’d only wanted to pull Drift’s attention away from their exhausted captain, but his friend did not appear to be available for talking- Drift’s optics were blown wide, a toothy smile and shaking fists adding to the aggressive stance.  
  
“Drift?” Fulcrum said quietly, raising his hands again peacefully. “Please. I know you’re in there, just take a nanosec and think.”  
  
“I’ve had plenty of time to think,” Drift spat angrily, starling the tech. “It doesn’t take long to realise you’re a coward, you skinny glitch. It’s no wonder you were forgotten.”  
  
“I- Excuse me?” Fulcrum’s chassis clenched as he took another step back, yelping when his back connected with something solid. Misfire’s fields washed over his, familiar and soothing, and he straightened. “This isn’t you, Drift,” Fulcrum repeated firmly.  
  
Drift paused to laugh, a dark bitter sound that made Fulcrum wince. “Look at you, pathetic little traitor. Can’t even hold your ground without someone at your back.” The aqua optics narrowed again as the wicked grin widened. “I’ll rip through you both if you don’t- Oof!”  
  
Fulcrum watched in astonishment as Krok tackled Drift from behind, throwing their friend offbalance and going down in a flailing heap. Misfire skipped around him and fell on the pile, helping pin various limbs to the floor. With a furious yell, Spinister shoved Fulcrum aside and barreled forward, slamming headfirst into the screaming mass. Even with the added bulk, Fulcrum could see Drift was still managing to slither around their punches and return most of them with enough force to dent.  
  
“We just _had_ to keep bringing traitors on the ship,” Crankcase glared as he pushed past, metal creaking as he clenched his fists. Fulcrum watched anxiously as the pilot waded into the melee, his deep baritone offsetting a new round of shouts. Thankfully Grimlock had to be in deep recharge to be missing this sort of ‘fun’.  
  
Fulcrum’s hands curled at his sides, a swell of anger heating his plating. Certainly he was skinny, physically useless in such a fight, but what had kept him alive- and, admittedly nearly killed him- was his abnormally high processing power. He couldn’t toss punches with the rest, but he could think his way out of this, given enough time. How could he reach Drift through the drug’s influence? A shock, perhaps, something that would make his friend react more deeply than a slap to the face. Something emotional, something that would stir Drift rather than this scary persona he was wearing.  
  
“Misfire and I merged sparks,” he blurted.  
  
Like a comedy holovid, all action froze as Fulcrum slapped both hands over his mouth, horrified.  
  
“You did what?!” Crankcase shouted, his hold on Drift’s neck slipping as he straightened to stare up at him.  
  
“’Bout time,” Krok muttered, forcing one arm out from under Drift’s legs to wave ineffectively. Spinister immediately rumbled a strange purring noise, optics narrowing in his version of a smile.  
  
And, to complete his humiliation, Misfire’s fist raised from the tangle of limbs with a sharp whistle. “Pit yeah, I fragged that hot piece of aft!” the jet crowed victoriously.  
  
A strange silence fell as Fulcrum hunched to cover all his face, then spread his fingers to peek when a breathy huffing reached his audials. It took him a moment to locate the noise, watching in surprise as Drift went limp in the various holds on him, optics shuttering as he wheezed laughter. Krok joined in shortly after, as did Misfire and Spinister. Shakily Fulcrum chuckled, cautiously stepping closer and reaching down to disentangle Misfire from under Krok and Drift.  
  
“Could’ve skipped that delightful news,” Crankcase muttered as he shoved Spinister off his legs. “Thanks, Fulcrum, I needed new recharge fuel.”  
  
Fulcrum couldn’t return the ire, too busy trying to fend off Misfire’s kisses as he assessed Drift’s mental state. Fortunately his friend’s optics were clear, if weary, when he glanced up at them. “Drift?” he smiled, tugging Misfire down with him to help Drift and Krok to their pedes. “Did that work?”  
  
“It did,” Drift huffed, clutching at his helm with one hand. “I- It’s still there, it’s fighting me for control, but I’ve got the upper hand now. Krok?” Drift turned, dark hands flitting over the various dents in their captain’s plating. “Oh Primus- Let me help you to the medbay, I- I-,”  
  
Fulcrum recognized the fearful expression settling on his friend’s face; to his relief, Krok’s optics half-shuttered in an accepting smile- before planting his fist directly on Drift’s nose. Drift yelled and toppled backward, curling in on himself as he groaned in pain.  
  
“Let’s help each other,” Krok said merrily, hauling Drift back to his pedes and steadying him with a hand around his waist. “And trust me, next time you ask to be locked up, I’ll listen.”  
  
Drift smiled weakly, casting a glance over the wrecked room and meeting each pair of optics in turn. “I will accept any punishment necessary for-,”  
  
“Later,” Krok sighed as they limped toward the door. “We’ll sort it all out later, alright? Right now I just want some fuel and quiet. What about the rest of you?”  
  
“Quiet?” Grimlock’s snout peek from around the corner, snuffling as the tiny optics swept over the mess and widened in shock. “Me Grimlock don’t want quiet. Play fighting still going?”  
  
“Sorry, no, Grimmy,” Fulcrum chuckled, reaching up to scratch under the massive chin. “We couldn’t invite you, because you’d win. Gotta give someone else a chance sometimes, yeah?”  
  
Grimlock snorted heavily, shaking his bulk indignantly. “Me Grimlock don’t care about fair.”  
  
Fulcrum gasped as he was pushed into Misfire, Spinister hurrying to catch up to the weaving pair. “If you ever hit Krok again,” he heard the surgeon hiss, “I will melt you into engine scrap.”


End file.
